


Falling Fearless

by AndalusianSunshine



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Coming Out, El Clásico, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-31 23:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndalusianSunshine/pseuds/AndalusianSunshine
Summary: When Gerard gets injured during a Clásico, a surprising secret comes to light.
Relationships: Gerard Piqué/Sergio Ramos
Comments: 20
Kudos: 179





	Falling Fearless

**Author's Note:**

> I was actually planning to write and post this after the clásico, but then they postponed it and i didn't feel like waiting any longer, so i wrote it anyway. The Clásico mentioned in this fic is completely made up.
> 
> Title borrowed from _Shaking Heads_ by Foxes

Sergio crouches down and rests his hands on his knees, gasping for breath and using the few moments the ball is on the other side of the pitch to sooth the burning in his lungs. The match has been dragging on for a goalless 80 minutes, a pointless back and forth that’s left everyone frustrated and on edge.

He’s still looking down, tugging on his socks when the piercing sound of the whistle startles him. He straightens up quickly, eyes scanning the pitch for what happened and he can’t help but flinch when he spots a large group of people gathered around someone lying motionless on the ground, the medics rushing onto the pitch and it’s never a good sign when players from both teams are crowded around an injured player, worried expressions on their faces.

He makes a quick head count of his teammates, relieved when all ten of them are accounted for, even if Karim is being attended to by their medics. It's only when he lets his eyes wander over the Barca players, when he doesn’t spot the familiar head sticking out over the rest of them, no one towering over everyone else, that his pulse starts to speed up, pounding in his veins as his search becomes frantic, his worst fears confirmed when the crowd of players suddenly moves apart, revealing the player on the ground, the yellow number three printed neatly on his blue pants, Gerard’s familiar long legs splayed out in the grass. 

Sergio’s stomach clenches painfully and his mind is screaming at him to rush to his side, to make sure Gerard is alright, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s frozen to the spot and even just breathing is almost too much to handle, his chest so tight it feels like no air is getting into his lungs and he’s paralyzed with fear of what he might find, of what he might do if Gerard is seriously hurt, but even more so of his emotions getting the better of him, of giving it all away. 

He still hasn’t moved when Marcelo joggs over to him, handing him a bottle of water.

"Thanks," Sergio mumbles and mechanically takes a sip, almost spills half of it all over himself with how badly his hands are shaking. "What happened?" he asks, not entirely sure he even wants to know the answer.

"Piqué and Karim collided mid-air," Marcelo explains, the shock still evident in his voice. "Piqué hit his head badly when he landed. I think he was unconscious for a moment. But Karim is fine," he adds, like it's supposed to make Sergio feel any better and maybe it should, maybe it makes him a bad person that his teammates are the last thing on his mind right now, but all he can think about is Gerard.

He barely notices how Marcelo eventually takes the empty bottle from his hands and runs back into position, can focus on nothing but the medics carrying Gerard off the field, bile rising in his throat at how pale and lifeless he looks, strapped to the stretcher, a brace around his neck.

The last minutes of the match pass by in a blurr. He passes on autopilot, defends on autopilot and it’s nothing short of a miracle that they manage not to concede when he can barely hear himself think over the pulse roaring in his ears, over the anxiety that’s threatening to consume him whole.

When the final whistle finally puts him out of his misery he doesn’t bother getting changed, doesn’t even bother talking to his teammates, instead he heads straight to the Barcelona dressing room.

The security guard at the door looks at him strangely and Sergio is more than prepared to fight his way through, no matter what it takes, but maybe it’s the determined set of his jaw or the frantic look in his eyes that makes the guy reconsider, because he only gives him a curt nod and steps aside, doesn’t even try to stop him as he storms past him.

His reception inside the Barcelona dressing room however is less friendly. He's barely through the door when Suárez steps up in front of him, putting a hand on his chest to keep him from advancing further, but the touch lacks conviction. "You can't be here," he says and sounds just as exhausted as Sergio feels.

Sergio's eyes frantically scan the room in search of Gerard, panic almost overwhelming him, when he can't find him anywhere.

"Where is he?" he finally manages to force out and he sounds treacherously close to begging.

"Who?"

"Gerard," he almost chokes on the name and suddenly everyone is staring him curiously and Sergio knows he’s too close to revealing himself, but he really couldn’t care any less. He needs to know how Gerard is doing.

“He’s not here,” a voice says from behind, Jordi stepping up beside him and putting a calming hand on his shoulder and Sergio has never been more grateful to have a friend on the other team. “He’s got a concussion. They took him to the hospital for a brain scan,” he explains and Sergio feels some of the anxiety ease off his chest.

“Which hospital?” he asks.

"As if we're gonna tell you that," Suárez glowers at Sergio.

"Why do you even care?" This time it's Messi, voice quite but firm.

"I …, " Sergio starts and he's never come this close to spilling their secret. "Please, I need to know," he pleads instead and maybe it's the tears welling up in his eyes or the desperation in his voice, but Jordi steps in once again. 

"Come on," he says, pushing Suárez away and giving Sergio's shoulder a nudge. "You shouldn't be here right now. You need to go back to your dressing room and take a good long shower and calm down,” he suggests and Sergio can only nod and let himself be guided towards the exit, no energy left to resist anymore.

It takes him forever to shower and get rid of his teammates and even longer to find out the hospital Gerard got taken to, so by the time he finally gets there, almost four hours have passed since Gerard had been carried off the field.

He groans tiredly when he runs into Suárez, Messi and Jordi the moment he enters the waiting room. Some privacy was apparently too much to ask for.

“You again,” Suárez snaps at him in greeting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sergio ignores him and turns to Jordi instead. “How is he?”

“They won’t tell us anything,” Jordi shrugs helplessly. “Because we’re not family.”

“Figures,” Sergio rolls his eyes. “I’ll go find out,” he says and spins around, doesn’t noticed the confused looks directed at his back as he marches towards the nursing station.

“Excuse me,” he addresses the nurse sitting behind the desk. “I’m here to see Gerard Piqué.”

The woman looks up, instant recognition flickering in her eyes. "I don't think so," she says curtly, eyes instantly back on her computer screen and Sergio has never hated being famous as much as in this very moment.

He clears his throat, ready to make one last desperate attempt to get her to reconsider, even if it’s breaking all the rules, but before he can even start she glares at him again and the look in her eyes is already enough to make him close his mouth again.

“I already told his teammates over there that they can’t see him,” she nods towards the Barca players in the corner. “What makes you think i would make an exception for you of all people?” and there’s a coldness, a hostility in her voice that makes Sergio think she must be a Barcelona fan and the fact that something as insignificant as football rivalries still matters in a situation like this makes something break inside of him, because he’s tired and has been worried sick for God knows how long and all he really wants is to see Gerard and hold his hand and make sure he’s going to be okay, consequences be damned.

“He’s my husband,” he blurts out and it comes out much louder than expected, the admission echoing eerily off the cold walls and he’s all too aware of how deadly quiet the waiting room suddenly is, all eyes trained on him.

“You really expect me to believe that?” the nurse sneers at him and he probably wouldn’t believe himself either if he was in her position, but as it is he’s precariously close to losing it.

“I can proof it,” he mumbles, but his fingers shake so badly he can barely get his phone out of his pockets and he hates that he even has to resort to measures like this as he scrolls through his photo gallery, the relief almost overwhelming when he finally finds the blurry picture, the one they had taken years ago, for moments just like this one, because they had known they would need it eventually.

“Here,” he slides his phone across the desk and he can’t quite suppress the satisfied smirk when the nurse gapes at their wedding certificate and he half expects her to still question the truth of his words, but it only takes a few moments until her expression slips back to neutral and professional.

“Follow me, please,” she says, sliding out from behind her desk and finally leading Sergio towards Gerard’s room.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” he says to Jordi when he passes them by, faced with three very confused expressions and for a moment he almost feels bad for leaving them behind without an explanation, but he just doesn’t have the patience to delay seeing Gerard any longer.

Gerard looks pale and exhausted, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips when Sergio enters the room and Sergio feels a surge of relief so strong his knees almost give in.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, not even trying to conceal how shaky his voice is.

“You worry too much. It’s just a concussion,” Gerard grins and beckons him over, scoots a little to the side so Sergio can sit on the edge of his bed. “How did you even get in here?”

Sergio smiles sheepishly. “You don’t wanna know,” he mumbles and slides his hands into Gerard’s hair, soothing himself as much as Gerard with the affectionate gesture. “I’m just glad your okay.”

“You told them, didn’t you?” Gerard looks at him questioningly, but his voice is free of any accusations, nothing but love and affection in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Sergio stares down at his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“It’s fine,” Gerard reaches out and cups his cheek, tilts his head upwards again. “I would have done the exact same thing,” he reassures, pressing a soft kiss to Sergio’s lips. “It was bound to come out eventually anyway.”

Sergio nods and he knows they’ll have to deal with the fallout sooner or later, but for now all he wants is to have Gerard all to himself. “Did they tell you when you can go home?” he asks. 

“They wanna keep me overnight, but I’m sure you can talk them into letting me out early,” Gerard grins. “I wanna go home.”

It takes considerable time and effort to convince the doctors to let Gerard leave the hospital, but Sergio eventually succeeds and it feels like he can finally breathe again when they’re back at Gerard’s house, Sergio making sandwiches while Gerard is taking a shower.

When he finally makes it to their bedroom, plates in hand, Gerard is standing next to the window, looking out over the garden.

“Why aren’t you in bed yet?” Sergio asks, frowning. 

“Because i’m not tired,” Gerard explains and smiles at Sergio. “I’m fine. Stop worrying and come here.”

“You’re impossible. You should be resting,” Sergio sighs exasperatedly as he puts the plates on the bedside table, but he goes over to him anyway, the rest of the tension finally seeping out of his muscles when Gerard winds an arm around him and tugs him against his side. 

“You’re cute when you’re fussing over me,” Gerard grins and presses a kiss to Sergio’s hair. 

“Be quiet or i’ll make you drink that tea you hate so much,” Sergio mumbles teasingly, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s waist and resting his head against his chest. He lets out a tired yawn.

Gerard laughs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You look like you’re gonna fall over any second.”

They end up stretched out on top of the covers, legs tangled and watching tv.

“What do you think is gonna happen now?” Sergio asks after a while.

“Who knows,” Gerard shrugs. “Maybe they’re not gonna say anything and it’ll just go away again.”

“You think we could convince them not to sell the story to the press?” 

“I don’t know, but would it be the worst thing in the world if it came out now?”

“I guess not,” Sergio tilts his head to meet Gerard’s gaze and deep down in his heart he knows that their love is strong enough to survive anything. “And we could finally stop hiding.”

“Yeah,” Gerard looks thoughtful for a few moments, but then he gets that mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Sergio is all too familiar with. “I have an idea,” he announces and reaches for his phone.

“What are you doing?” Sergio asks when Gerard drags his left leg towards him, entangling them even more.

“Taking a picture for Instagram,” Gerard smiles innocently. “I need to let my fans know that I’m fine,” he says.

Sergio leans over to peek at the screen and the picture in itself is pretty tame, only their naked legs showing, pressed together on white sheets, the TV playing in the background and there would be nothing revealing or remarkable about it if it wasn't for Sergio's leg tattoos being clearly visible.

“It’s gonna take them less than five minutes to figure out that that’s my leg,” Sergio points out, smiling because he’s starting to get an inkling of what Gerard is up to.

“That’s what I'm counting on,” Gerard grins and hits post.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for Kudos and Comments! Don't be shy, i usually don't bite :)


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